Fall
by Bellsie805
Summary: Autumn in Princeton, NJ means that Allison Cameron falls apart. Over and over and over again.


Title: Fall

Author: Bellsie

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Rating: PG-13ish

Pairing: House/Cameron

Author's Note: Beta-d by the lovely piecesofalice—thanks Marti! Writing this for chaoticvanity. The quote she asked to be included is:

"People ask you for criticism but they only want praise."

;';

_Part One: September_

It is the beginning of autumn in Princeton, New Jersey.

Leaves change.

Students arrive.

She falls apart.

;';

She goes to work now with shadowed bags underneath her eyes. Her stomach turns at the sight of food and her head aches when she refuses to eat anything.

No one notices the difference.

;';

"People ask you for criticism but they only want praise," House tells her one afternoon after he snarls at several med students Cuddy sent his way.

"Some people are like that," she shrugs because it takes too much energy anymore to respond with biting retorts or even witty words.

"All people are," he looks at her and scours her body.

She raises her head and digs through his eyes—there's truth and there's passion…hurt, love, and disappointment. They sting. She turns away.

"Am I?" She asks because she needs self-assurance and this is all too much for her now. She drops the envelope on the desk and folds her arms across her chest. She shivers in the cold room and thinks about the thousands of reasons she'd be better off living somewhere south of here.

"Especially you," he tells her and leaves the room. She does entrances and he does exits—if they'd dance together, their strengths would compensate for the other's weaknesses.

Cameron and House aren't dancers.

_Part II: October_

In the morning, she worries that her exhaustion and her dark circles are the dawning of cancer. She frets over that too much.

;';

Stacy leaves and House's depression arrives. She notices it more than the others. His words are sharper. His cane digs into the carpet with a ferocity that makes her stay silent during their differential diagnosis sessions.

This only makes him pierce her more.

;';

When she catches House's cold, he makes her a cup of tea laced with insults. He hands her his mug.

"Is it sterilized?" She asks as she lifts it to her lips. Even if it hasn't been washed since its last use, she'll drink from it anyway.

"No. Usually you do the sterilizing around here. Being a woman and all," his mouth does its routine and she takes a sip.

The tea is too hot and she spits some of it back into the mug.

"Too warm for you? Can't handle the heat?"

She places the cup on the table and stands up to leave the room. Her palms rests flat against the glass, leaving palm prints, which, she hopes, will be used to identify her later.

"I can handle the heat," she informs him and pushes the door open, "but it was just too bitter."

;';

She buys _Seventeen_. Concealer one shade lighter than the rest of her skin tone, she finds, covers the circles up quite nicely.

;';

Chase glances at her every so often and Foreman slaps her on the back—_you're one of us guys_ he tries to tell her.

She's always tried to be part of something.

;';

_Part 3.0: November_

It's cold. There's ice. Her brain numbs.

;';

House walks in on her arguing with Wilson. She finds comfort in Wilson's knowing smiles about her relationship with House. Their non-existent relationship, of course.

"Lover's spat? Quarrels over techniques in bed?"

She looks at him without disguising her disgust. Some things he should see.

"House, it's only been a month," Wilson chides him gently.

"So you're still open to the idea of bedding Cameron even though Julie's barely out of the picture? What happened to Miss Double-Ended-Bookkeeping? Although, I'm sure you and Cammy here could have an intense game of 'doctor—'"

"Stop it!"

She's been numb for two months now and it's her first display of emotion in light years. The two men look at her. Hands clench, teeth grind—she hopes she scars skin and erases enamel.

Wilson grabs his not-beeping beeper, glances at it, and hurries out of the room. Cancer patients tend to die more than others.

"So, it's just me and you and a dog named Blue," he murmurs.

"Just—I don't know why I do this!" She shouts and is glad the walls are glass because she wants to scream until they fall—until they shatter—until they're pieces of sharp, sharp, blood-drawing pain.

"Temper, temper."

Her hands land on the conference room table with a thwack. She lets her head turn and her hair dangle—pretenses build and she's lost in her own hopelessness and his facades.

"I hate you."

It's a bullet, but he's made of Teflon. He smiles at her.

"Perhaps, Dr. Cameron, you can dedicate your enormous amounts of free time to organizing the 'Everyone Hates Dr. House' club. I'm sure you could be president and find lots of members. Just make sure those members don't have terminal illnesses. Wouldn't want them to have to die before seeing me get my comeuppance."

He leaves again. She stands alone.

The glass remains intact.

;';

_Part 04: December_

Her head pounds daily. She nibbles on Christmas cookies and appeases Foreman by gnawing on candy canes during their meetings. House doesn't miss the symbolism and Chase doesn't miss her emaciation.

;';

Foreman and Chase confront her later.

"It's just a thing," she waves her hand and chomps on an apple. It tastes bad.

"It's not just a thing. You've never been thinner!" Chase tells her.

"I thought you liked skinny women."

"He also likes 9-year-olds," Foreman grins and Chase rolls his eyes.

She seizes the opportunity and pounces on the open target.

She hasn't ever really liked Chase anyway.

;';

It is the winter solstice. It is midnight and she has an egg. She is pathetic.

"It doesn't work," he tells her as he walks into the conference room.

"It's called faith."

"Faith is something atheists don't have."

"Faith is something I thought cripples lost."

He sits down. She rolls the egg from hand to hand.

"We don't lose it, but we become accustomed to not having our prayers answered. Better to have never asked in the first place than be disappointed by an unfulfilled request."

"Freud?"

He snorts.

"How much did you pay for that pop psychology class you took in college?"

The hand on the clock ticks to 12. She lets the egg stand by itself.

It falls.

"Dr. Cameron and her naïveté. You surprise me more every day."

"Dr. House, I'd love to stay and talk, but I think you've overstayed your welcome."

He's taken aback and puts his cane on the table. He reaches from the egg and she reluctantly hands it to him. She could have pulled it out of his grasp, but that'd be unfair.

He tosses the egg in the air and she watches it progress in an arc like the sun. White swirls through black for several moments. He makes a motion to catch it, but drops it at the last moment. She gasps.

He grabs his cane again and looks down briefly at the splattered mix of white egg and yellow yolk. Her face freezes in horror because she's never seen him fail.

He stands up.

All is silent as he thumps to the door. When he turns around, she knows he can see the look misery on her face.

"It's an egg, Cameron. Don't cry over it."

And he leaves.

;';

It is the end of autumn in Princeton, New Jersey.

Snow blows.

Students vacation.

She falls apart.


End file.
